Nowhere Else
by Fallen Ark Angel
Summary: Laxus was never home a lot in years past. But man, now, he can't imagine being anywhere else. - One-shot.


He'd never been home as often as he was in those days. And typically, even when he was home, the days were spent training somewhere near Magnolia or boozing up the local bar scene. Home was a broad sense of the term, rather than the actualized apartment where he occasionally stopped in to exchange items of clothing or sleep off and unfortunate, ill-timed hangover.

It wasn't a bad place, the one that Laxus Dreyar rented out for himself. Small, maybe, but big enough for a single man. Especially one not around often. He had his bookshelf, filled with the daring adventure novels that he was always sure to have one of, in his pack, while he was away on jobs. He had his liquor cabinet, which was more for looks, honestly, so Freed, Bickslow, and Evergreen could ooh and awe about it, when he showed off a particularly arduous to acquire bottle. He had a nice movie lacrima, a couch to fall into when stumbling further, all the way to his bedroom, was just too much for the slayer. His kitchen was rarely used which, on the plus side, kept it spotless for the most part and he even had a nice window, that overlooked his city, and he could smoke his cigars at while being (or at least pretending to be) a deep intellectual.

While not luxurious or extravagant, it was the kind of place that he always envisioned for himself, when he was a child, and imagined up the hard life of a working wizard. Somewhere he could go when he needed to be alone. More alone, or at least in a different sense of the word, than when he was out traveling the land.

But then something changed.

There was no way, no possible way, to know the exact moment that he thought that he and Mirajane Strauss could be more than two powerful mages, passing one another in the night, but he could say the exact one, the very exact, down to the last millisecond one, where he thought, '_Damn. It's Mirajane.'_

Because it was. Mirajane. He knew now. With certainty.

The whole thing started in such a stupid way. Over a year ago now, he'd just gotten back into town and gone to check up on his grandfather. The old geezer wasn't feeling too well and, when he came around to leer down at his laid up gramps (and, you know, actually check on his well-being), he found that Mirajane Strauss had been the one over at the old man's house, caring for him. Of course.

Far from shocking, he was actually kind of glad, actually, that it was Mira. He figured some of his other options were Erza (ugh) or maybe even Lucy (which was fine, but she came with the added baggage of Natsu and Happy) or perhaps Lisanna (see previous complaint), so it was just for the best. That it was Mirajane.

And not the dread Porlyusica. Because he could not deal with that old woman hounded him over shit. At all.

Out of all the non-Thunder Legion members of Fairy Tail, while Laxus found himself being at least amicable with many in those days, Mirajane Strauss was the closest that he'd call something like a friend. Maybe. And as he hung around for a few days, trying to check in on the man, maybe, but also…

Well…

Heh.

It happened so fast, all of it. One minute, they're just talking around the fact that his grandfather, while improving, probably was going to have to retire from the guildhall soon and then somehow he was asking her if she wanted to hang out, after, since she didn't have work, he didn't think, and it would be fine with him if they just went to grab a drink somewhere.

Would it be fine with her?

He liked it more than he thought he would, honestly. Being around the woman. Away from the hall. Mirajane had always been easy on the eyes, but there was something more to her, when you stripped away her bubbly, put on persona that she carried at the hall and had an actual, real conversation with the woman. And while Laxus couldn't say exactly how it was that he began to feel it, to know it, once he did, it was just a part of him. His feelings. For the she-devil.

When she started coming around his apartment, Laxus didn't really think much of it. He didn't have women over often, but if it was someone that he at least somewhat trusted, he didn't see it as an end of the world thing. And Mirajane, being one of his guildmates, meant that he trusted her far more than the random women he'd built up something of a rapport with over the years.

Seeing her there, anyways, stretched out on his couch after working all day, long hard hours, on her feet, or snuggled up under his coat in his bed or maybe, and perhaps most often, actually getting use out of his old kitchen, well…

Laxus liked her there. A lot. More than he ever thought that he would. Having someone around constantly, a woman at that, shouldn't be something he enjoyed. Craved, almost. If anything, it shouldn't be a problem at all, given he was gone so much. Off on long sabbaticals in distant lands, far from home with little thoughts of what awaited him back at it.

Something changed though, when it came to Mirajane. He wanted to be there, with her, and even though he still got the desires some time, to run off to some own known area to tackle the most complex of jobs. And, when that desire did creep up, he would go off and do just that. But it was always quick to fade and, once it had, he was back home once more, smoking a cigar at his window, feeling all dignified and shit, while his woman cooked him dinner.

That's what she was now. Eventually. His woman. That was what he knew the exact moment of. With certainty.

There he was, about six months into tentatively dating, sitting around the kitchen table as the woman sat across from him, going on and on about something and he wasn't even really listening. Or at least he didn't remember listening. He wasn't bored or annoyed. Just not listening. He found his focus mostly lingering on her eyes, but it fell sometimes, watching her mouth instead. Seeing every word, but not hearing. Understanding.

The intent behind them, however, was more than enough.

And he just remembered getting his feeling in his gut. That he'd never gotten before. As he tapped a few fingers against the table, still not listening, he found himself saying something instead. It just came out of him, suddenly, and probably inappropriately time-wise.

"I really like you being here." His tone was flat, not even rushed or concerned as he stepped right over whatever the woman had been saying. Eyes finding hers fully then, he said, "A lot. Mirajane."

She looked bemused, perhaps a bit annoyed, but still found herself nodding with a bit of a giggle as she agreed, "Well, I'm glad to be here, dragon."

And he believed her.

It's not that she didn't have a place of her own. She did. One that made her very proud. But...her siblings were there and all of her friends, should she not be around the bar, saw it fit to just drop on by, and, fine, it was homey and comfortable, but also cramped and outdated and it…

It didn't have Laxus in it. That often. He liked her siblings well enough. Mirajane would never be so serious about a man who didn't. Or so she told him often. But he just...wasn't raised that way. The big, close family. He had no siblings and saw their interactions as a bit much, honestly. So he couldn't hang around a lot without getting a bit overwhelmed.

There was a point in time, after getting her baby sister back, that Mirajane thought she'd never want to live without it being the three of them, reunited, ever again. But that time had come, it seemed, and she found she liked it just as much as the slayer seemed so insistent he did.

It was weird, but it just did something to him, honestly, when he'd arrive home from a long off job and the first thing that hit him, that always hit him, was some sweet smell drifting in from the kitchen, along with the slight laugh of the woman as she called out a greeting for him. Then, as whatever it was that she was cooking up simmered on the stove, she'd go over to those expensive bottles of liquor he kept for show, open one with little concern, and pour him a straight drink to tap against her own glass.

"It looks so beautiful, sometimes, doesn't it?" she remarked, sometimes, around a smile as they stood together, him with a cigar stuck from his lips and a glass of a stiff drink cupped in hand and her smiling out at the city, from the big window that overlooked it. "Dragon?"

But he'd only grunt, because he had that mood about him, even if he was perfectly content, and look her over instead of the cityscape, this holding his attention far better.

When he'd fall into his couch in those days, unable to make it to the bed, it was far more likely due to his filled belly, from the woman's cooking, or the woman herself, who refused to allow him to go any further, and it was just different.

Now.

He'd never been home as often as he was now. Ever. At all. In his entire life. But these days, sometimes, it felt like there was nowhere he'd rather be.


End file.
